Endearing Young Charms
by R. H. Jones
Summary: His world is stagnating around him, but Jareth desires more than to be swallowed by the slow petrifaction of his surroundings. He ventures out of the Underground to find a new, vibrant life, and perhaps... Perhaps the beautiful girl with dark hair whose name he can't quite remember. J/S.
1. Prologue

"And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, would entwine itself verdantly still…" he hummed softly to himself, one bare finger twirling in the trodden dirt beside his knee as he sat in the dim tunnel. "…to which time will but make thee more dear… hmm." His finger paused in its movements for a moment and then tapped a few times as he tried to remember the words to the song. "…truly loves on to the close… Ah! As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, the same look which she turned when he rose."

Jareth let his head fall back against the ancient stone wall, watching the dust motes dance in the spare light. His hands hung limply aside him, one glove peeled off as the other still clung to his slender fingers. His head twitched slightly to the side to listen, and he heard… nothing. He sighed lightly as he pushed himself up and began walking the tunnel, trailing a finger across the wall as he went, still humming.

"Like… like faery gifts fading away, thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, let thy loveliness fade as it will…"

"Ah-hem."

"…fade as…"

"You're going the wrong way."

Jareth stopped short _,_ looking towards the behemoth face whose right pupil his finger was currently resting upon. "No, I'm not."

"Ah, but this is not the way to the castle!"

"I think that I know where my own castle is, thank you."

The great stone eyes shifted and strained as though trying to see past the obstruction that was the Goblin King's hand. Jareth took his finger away.

"Why, your majesty! Terribly sorry, we haven't seen you in these parts of the tunnels in some time."

"Yes. I was just having a day out."

"Of course, sire, of course."

Both were silent for a moment, slipping into the considering stillness of ancient bones. "How long?" Jareth asked, furrowing his brow in concentration.

"Long, sire?"

"Yes, how long since I've been down in the tunnels, would you say?"

"Oh, my. Well," the stone face blustered a bit, its deep voice rasping and grinding. "I couldn't possibly! The stones count time in millennia. It may have been the span of a life or a breath… I only know that the dust has grown thick again since last it was disturbed."

"Indeed, yes. Since it was last disturbed." Jareth took a step forward to continue his aimless stroll, dimly noting an indentation in the dirt that might have once been a footprint. "Would you notice, do you think, if I did not return at all?" He paused again to await the answer to his query.

"The stones have long memories."

"Perhaps, but when the stone has been worn for eons, and your face is ground smooth by the weight of your own age, will you remember if this was the last moment that you'd seen me? Will you remember then, that I was your king?"

"Sire…"

Jareth sighed once more. "The air grows stale. Mortal dreams have long turned towards other worlds, towards desires that the Underground cannot fulfill. What stories are told of us no longer hold enough truth to sustain. All that is left is the desert."

"The goblins, sire?"

"Are content to create havoc amongst themselves and carouse with chickens. They found this world long before my kind did and will no doubt stay long after the last of us have gone. After _I've_ gone."

There was silence again in the passage as the king watched the air stir only by his own breath. The stones fell back into contemplation, words of reassurance lost to truth.

"There was a girl," the king said, voice soft and distant as he reached for the memory, "a beautiful girl. I think… I cannot recall her name, nor her face. I remember dark hair and eyes full of fire, a cruel mirror of my own longing. I cannot recall her name, but I think that I loved her for her eyes, for the promise they held. " He blew out a breath in quiet frustration. "My memory grows stagnant when the stillness takes over. I cannot go on this way."

The walls did not reply.

"Would that I could pass through the veil with grace, but the thought of it fills me with regret and sorrow more than peace. I yearn for life, for movement." Jareth passed his hands over his face, skin and silk pressing his eyes and swiping over his cheeks and lips. His fingers drew down beneath his jaw, resting on the slow and strong rhythm of his heartbeat and finding small comfort in its persistence. "I think that I must leave this world. I must follow that fire, allow it to consume me. I doubt I will find the girl. She may be old. She may have long ago cleared the veil herself, or she may yet be young. Human lives slip away so quickly, and time is fickle in the silence." He tilted his head and furrowed his brow as he thought. "I will not seek her out, but I will carry the memory of her eyes to light my way. I will allow her to guide me."

The stone face again said nothing. The earth had no wisdom for him, no encouragement or need to sway his decision. The vibration of his voice did not penetrate the perimeters of the passageway. He stood alone as the rocks continued to exist without his rule.

.

Jareth sat on the edge of the tufted bench which stood at the foot of his bed. He looked around at the worn but well cared for furniture, swept his hand over the plush blankets that had kept him warm at night for many lonely years. The hearth was cold and cleared of soot, the mantle bare. He looked into the crystal perched on his thumb and index finger, watching the humans step briskly along walkways and go about their days. He brushed a hand down his torso and lifted it to touch the tips of his trimmed hair. His golden mane now fell to his neck, still thick and only slightly tamer than it usually laid.

He took a deep calming breath as he stood, tugging on the hem of his jacket. He wore the simplest clothes that he owned, all in deep blacks. His shirt was fine silk but without ruffles or lace, his trousers fitted but of sturdier material than he favored and his boots cut to the ankle with a low heel. His jacket was smooth leather that tapered at his hips, asymmetrical lapels flat against his chest and creased collar tucked against his neck and shoulders. He felt still like Jareth the aged and well-bred creature of wild magics, Jareth the scholar, the mage, the man, but perched on a great precipice that required him to leave pieces of himself behind like the flaxen locks so carefully set on his pillow, a last reminder to his world that he had existed. He was no longer Jareth the King.

He walked through his suite with a small leather satchel, collecting odds and ends that he wished to keep to ground him, to cherish. A book of poetry in the old language, one of his earliest seeing stones, a fine clay figure of an owl which he believed that his mother had gifted him. He kept two pairs of gloves, one silk and one leather, for the comfort of old habits and protection from the dangerous metals of the Above.

Staring at himself in the large standing mirror by the wardrobe, Jareth lifted a finger to his sharp cheekbone. He rubbed at the colored skin by his eyes and the bridge of his nose, huffing slightly. The shadows were slight without extra paint, but noticeable. His tilted brows also gave him away. No matter that he tried to dress and style his hair to appear more human, he would have to use a glamour to modify his face. He supposed that a new life was worth the small strain of maintaining it day after day.

One last look around and he was ready. He walked to the bed again, gently laying his pendant over the hair on his pillow. The release of the symbol of his office was his last act, the end of his reign. He left his kingship quietly, inhaling as he faded away, leaving nothing but the barest cloud of shimmering dust floating to the rug. The room was silent.

.

Jareth let out his breath in the frigid evening air, looking around at the brick walls to either side of him. He'd chosen this spot for its inconspicuousness, observing no one glancing in this direction. He smelt the strange perfumes of the city, petroleum and street food and rubber heating the mud as tires span through the streets. Adrenaline put him on alert, speeding his heartbeat and quickening his breath. His eyes stung at the hint of cigarette smoke on the breeze, but he kept them wide as he stepped forward and onto the busy sidewalk. The noise almost overwhelmed him and he grinned for the first time in what felt like years.

Someone shouldered past him for standing still, and he turned on his heel to move with the flow of foot traffic, feeling almost giddy. Jareth walked quickly, taking in the lights and all of the chaos that his surroundings had to offer. His foot landed in a shallow puddle and he laughed a bit, continuing on with a spring in his step and a new light building in his eyes. He had no idea where he was going, and it was wonderful.

"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, but as truly loves on to the close. As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, the same look which she'd turned as he rose," he sang quietly under his breath, smiling at his reflection in shop windows and watching the sky slowly dim to a grey twilight.

To Jareth, the night once again felt like the promise of a new day.

* * *

A/N: So. It's been roughly a decade since I've posted anything here, and this is a very old project that I started way back then. I abandoned it for varied and sundry reasons (hard drive crash, frustration after hard drive crash, life after hard drive crash... Lack of interaction with fan fiction shortly thereafter), and rewriting it marks the first writing project I've started in a long time. I'm trying to get back into the swing using fanfic again as a motivating exercise, so I plan on turning this into a multi-chapter fic and seeing it through to the end even if it kills me.

The he short little ficlets I posted back in, ah, 2007? Make me cringe now, but I left them up for posterity's sake. If you are, for any reason, inclined to go read them, please don't judge me. It's awful. I know that it's awful. Yick.

Last note, the song that Jareth sings here is an old Irish ballad called "Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms." In full:

Beleive me, if all those endearing young charms,  
Which I gaze on so fondly today,  
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms  
Like fairy gifts fading away  
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,  
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,  
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart  
Would entwine itself verdantly still

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own  
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear  
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known  
To which time will but make thee more dear.  
No, the heart which has truly loved never forgets  
But as truly loves on to the close  
As the sunflower turns on her God when he sets  
The same look which she turned when he rose


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah took a deep breath, stepping to the curb and extending an arm for a taxi. Two passed by her and she tapped her foot, feeling her frustration building again. What was wrong with her that made her fall for these idiot, backstabbing, silver-tongued jerks? Evan, who she'd just discovered had "borrowed" several hundred dollars from her bank account to fund a drug-fueled weekend with his skeevy friends. Matt, the one who hit her during an argument once, whom she'd lunged at with her keys afterwards and kicked in the groin the next time he approached her. Troy, who'd slept with her friend Bethany in grad school.

One finally stopped for her, and she yanked open the door with probably more force than was necessary. Sarah plopped down on the seat, tiredly gave the driver her address and leaned her head back to stare out the window, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her as she finally came down from her fury and her hands stopped shaking. She wanted a girlfriend to whine to and drink with, one who would bring her cinnamon rolls and tell her that men were scum, and that Evan was a special kind of scum and she shouldn't feel bad for imagining herself slowly ripping off his toenails.

 _Kelsey?_ No, she thought. She was just a work friend, they weren't nearly close enough. _Andrea? Ugh, no. Absolutely not, she was his friend first._ Sarah let out a long, exasperated sigh, stomping her foot on the car floor. The cabby looked at her in the rear view briefly, but said nothing. Why didn't she have a best friend? Best friends were useful. Best friends stuck with you. _Troy, remember?_ She scoffed. _Or maybe because you keep everyone at arm's length._ "Do not," she muttered. The driver looked at her again, raising an eyebrow. She sunk down in her seat sullenly and stayed quiet for the rest of the ride.

Once upstairs, she unlocked her door loudly and flipped on a light. No best friend? No problem. She kicked off her chic yet sensible work shoes, wiggled out of her pencil skirt and blouse and left them lying haphazardly over the back of her armchair. Making a beeline for the kitchen, she unhooked her bra with one hand and opened the refrigerator with the other, grabbing out a leftover carton of lo mein. Hooking the strap of her bra on one elbow, she reached into the cabinet for a bottle of wine.

"Hmm, let's see." There were two bottles. She chose the one with the screw cap. "Don't even have the strength of will right now for a corkscrew. Thank the powers for cheap wine."

Sarah set her lo mein on the coffee table and dropped her bra with the rest of her clothing, flopping onto the couch in her underwear with the wine in her hand. She unscrewed the top and raised it to the room in a toast, "To the benefits of social isolation—naked noodles and all the booze to myself!" and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

Picking up the remote, she flicked on the TV and channel surfed until she found an old black and white movie, already halfway through. She watched it calmly, sipping wine and ignoring her noodles. When she'd polished off two thirds of the bottle and found herself drunkenly stabbing at the cabbage in her otherwise untouched takeout container, she forced herself to stuff an overlarge bite of lo mein into her mouth.

Sarah turned off the television and stood up, still chewing. She raised one hand into the air above her head, swung her hips in a brief dance and announced, "I ate dinner!" to the empty room before swallowing the noodles and walking to her bedroom. As she climbed into bed she hummed and said admonishingly, "Would have eaten more if it was a cinnamon roll," before closing her eyes and drifting off.

.

Jareth stood to the left of the entrance to his favorite coffee shop, savoring the light rain on his face before turning to enter the small café. He inhaled the fragrance of the beans and closed his eyes briefly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 _Ah, coffee_ , he thought as he listened to the whirr of the grinders and the hiss of milk being steamed, _will your sensuous delights ever grow less pleasing?_

The young man at the counter smiled when Jareth reached the front of the line. "Morning! What can I get for you today, sir?"

"Macchiato please, Jacob. How does this lovely day find you?"

"Pretty good. Busy as usual. For here?" he said, punching numbers on the register.

"Yes please. Oh, now what is that attractive looking confection? I'll have one of those," Jareth said, pointing at a pastry in the glass case on the counter.

The boy smiled again, easygoing and bright. "Raspberry Danish. It's a good batch, they're not too sweet," he said, pulling one out with a pair of tongs and slipping it into a small paper bag.

"Fantastic, thank you," Jareth paid in exact change, as usual. "Wait at the other end of the counter, shall I?"

"Yes, sir. Enjoy you coffee."

"Thank you, Jacob."

Jareth took his small cup and saucer when it was placed on the counter and his pastry when it was handed to him, then made his way to one of the only empty seats in the crowded shop. He sipped delicately at his drink, touching his tongue to the edge of the cup when the barest drop of foam gathered at the edge. The hot, bitter liquid slid down his throat and he smiled, humming with pleasure. Coffee wasn't _new_ to him, not exactly, but he'd never had the fortune of enjoying it every day or sampling the many different ways it was prepared, the subtlety of the macchiato being one of his favored methods.

Turning his attention to the _Raspberry Danish_ , he excitedly pulled it out of the bag and examined the layers, touching the sticky glaze and tasting it. He let out a brief, quiet moan at the taste which was swallowed up by the noise in the room. _Pastry, pastry_ , he thought, _I adore you almost as much as coffee._

His attention turned to the other patrons of the café, buzzing about and speaking loudly over the cacophony of mechanical noises and other raised voices. He observed them eagerly, guessing at their activities for the day, their temperaments and their stories. _That woman_ , he thought, _perhaps the man she's sitting with is her lover. She's having a quick morning chat with him before they go off to work. He has some dreary job working in an office. Yes, he works in an office doing… something, but she must work with animals. She cares for them when they're ill. She's a... Veterinarian. That's the word._ He sat back with his Danish, feeling quite pleased with himself. He'd seen horses in the city walking the brick-lined streets leading carriages, dogs on leashes, even some kind of lizard on a passing man's shoulder at one point, and someone must look after them when they were ill. _She does,_ he thought. He closed his right eye, viewing them briefly with his Sight.

 _Ah! He sits at a desk and sells… cups. Plastic cups. Interesting. She's a line cook, but they meet in the mornings for a tryst. Oh, she's married. How unfortunate._ He frowned briefly and shook his head just a little, then looked for another face to contemplate.

Nearly two years he'd been frequenting this café, and it always gave him something new. The atmosphere stimulated him and the customers entertained him. It was beautiful in the morning with the grey dawn seeping in through the windows, barely glinting off of the chrome of the espresso machines. Sometimes he spoke to people in the shop; they seemed more likely to respond sitting with their beverage than in most other settings. People were very busy in the city, and he loved every second just soaking up the frantic energy. Of course, sometimes they would offer only rude language and quick dismissals to his attempts at conversation but he didn't mind that, either. He'd longed for _ages_ to have someone respond to his presence, and now he was spoilt for the variety of reactions he received.

"Excuse me," someone said, briefly swiping a hand across his field of vision to get his attention.

"Yes?" he responded pleasantly. He best liked when people spoke to him first. Even the smallest bit of being wanted he clung to.

"Is this seat taken?" The woman was short and blonde, looking hopefully at him.

"No, not at all. Please," he said, gesturing at the chair opposite him with a smile.

She nodded at him in thanks, grabbing the back of the chair and dragging it one table over to have a seat with her friend.

"Hmph." Jareth looked down at his macchiato for a minute, slightly disappointed. He nibbled his pastry and gazed out the window, hoping that the rain continued until the afternoon so that he might walk to the park and enjoy the raindrops soaking his hair and pattering on his shoulders. He did love the rain.

.

 _It's okay, Sarah. Walk, breathe. Enjoy the grass. See the grass? Grass is nice. Grass is happy. Grass doesn't betray you, it's just grass,_ Sarah thought as she trudged through Central Park, umbrella in hand.

She'd woken up that morning without so much as a hangover— _Not nearly drunk enough. Hard Liquor next time—_ but called in to take the day off of work anyway. She needed time to think, to calm down. A walk seemed like a nice idea, being outside usually helped soothe her.

The rain had calmed to a gentle spray, giving the air a muggy feeling instead of soaking her through. Sarah kept her umbrella up anyway, the slight separation of wet and dry making her feel like she was in a surreal, soft sort of bubble. Cool air kissed her cheeks and made her nose run as she looked down at her comfortable walking boots, one hand tucked under the arm that held the umbrella stem. Her sweater was soft and thick and she absently rubbed the side of her ribcage with her tucked hand, enjoying the knitted feel of the cloth and staring off into space as she walked.

As Sarah kept her eyes down on the grass, contemplating its friendly qualities, the edge of her umbrella bumped into something followed immediately by the rest of her as she was thrown off balance. She squeaked and fell back. Someone's long arms tried to steady her, but the umbrella was in the way and they only managed to grab one elbow while the rest of her scrambled and dropped. She fell less completely than she would have, and only the side of her right leg and hand were met by the wet ground.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said frantically, awkwardly trying to stand up with the umbrella.

"No need to apologize, miss, really. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I—Oh. Oh, no. What are you _doing_ here? I haven't done anything, said anything! You can't just show up out of nowhere, it's been _years_!"

"Pardon?" Jareth asked, brow furrowed and mouth turned down slightly.

Sarah's umbrella was now thrust in front of her like a shield as she stared wide-eyed at the tall blonde man in front of her, looking at her with a baffled expression. "Oh, please. Don't play innocent with me. I'm not having this, there is _no way_ that you're going to barge in and screw with me right now. I've had enough conniving, manipulative men in my world for one lifetime, _thank you very much_!"

"Really, miss, I was just standing—"

"No. Don't even try it. I'm supposed to believe that it's a _coincidence_ that you just so happen to be visiting New York today, standing exactly in my path? Really?"

"Now see here," he said calmly, "I've been standing here for ten minutes. You really must be mistaken."

"Oh, yeah? Then I suppose you didn't even know that I lived here."

"Well, being that—"

"I'm going home. Leave me alone," Sarah said emphatically, turning around and rushing away.

Jareth stood, bemused. "Humans are so strange sometimes," he muttered, turning his face back to the open sky.

.

Sarah slammed the door to her apartment hard, ripping off her wet sweater and running to the kitchen, leaving muddy footprints on the carpet behind her. She banged through her cabinet, fingers clumsy in her haste. "Ah-hah!" she yelped, running back to the front door.

Her damp, cold hands shivered a bit as she opened the pouch of gourmet sea salt, sprinkling a thick line at the threshold of her door. She then moved to the window sill, dumping more salt on the ledge. "Damn it!" she growled as the last of the salt failed to reach all the way to the other side of the window. She still had to cover the bedroom, too.

Rummaging through more cabinets, she bunched a hand in her hair and smacked a palm to her forehead in frustration. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she threw open the refrigerator door, pulling out a small cardboard box. "Baking soda! That's a type of salt, right?" she said to herself, skipping triumphantly back to the window.

She finished the line in the living room, moving to the bedroom window and going over any thinner spots by the three thresholds just for good measure. When she was done she sat on her couch uneasily, jumping whenever she heard a door slam or footsteps through the halls.

"Well this has been a surreal couple of days," she pouted, crossing her arms. She doubted she'd get much sleep that night.

* * *

A/N: This second chapter has been heavily edited and then reposted. I really never was happy with the original and I'm not certain that I'm happy with this version, but I've made some necessary changes. First of all, I've edited Sarah's terrible ex-boyfriend out beyond passing mentions because he originally had a complicated subplot that seemed like a good idea at the time, but the more I thought about it the less I wanted to continue it. The original beginning scene that I've since removed didn't flow well, was unclear and honestly just kind of jarring. Eh.

I'm gonna be honest, folks. This is going to be a stop and go project, but I still have every intention of completing a multi-chapter story. It'll just probably be slow going. I write when I have time (I adult really hard these days. 'Sup.) and when chronic pain doesn't make my arms go weird. It's unpredictable at the best of times.

Also, to my intense frustration- the drive that I kept all of my creative writing on went dead. It actually did, which if you saw the A/N on the previous chapter, you may know is the reason I stepped away from fanfiction (and writing generally) for the first time several years ago. I panicked for a while and eventually took it apart to see if there were physical issues and managed to pinch its precious little guts together just long enough to recover my files. Phew! I probably would have rage-quit again regardless of my promise to keep at it.

Though the original potty-mouthery that caused me to set the rating to 'M' in the first place is gone, the rating will remain for... reasons. You know what they are, you little heathens.

Anyhow, the next chapter is actually almost done. See you in a few days, probably. :)


	3. Chapter 3

The common area of the building was packed, the large group primarily made up of students filing out of the lecture hall. Some lingered in the reception area making conversation, and Jareth navigated slowly through the milling crowd searching for a particular perpetually harried-looking figure. He spotted the man standing with presumably another professor, and older woman dressed in a crisp button down and a flamboyant scarf. Jareth approached them quickly, feeling invigorated by the lecture and the echoing din bouncing off of the walls and high ceiling. He slipped his thin, fitted gloves off as he walked, tucking them discreetly into the pocket of his blazer.

"Jareth!" the man exclaimed, holding out a hand to clap to his shoulder as soon as he was within reach. His wispy grey hair stuck up at odd angles, which reminded Jareth of home.

"Doctor Cowden," He greeted, nodding politely at the man and turning his attention to the woman.

"This is professor Jillian Thomas, she's the chair for the Philosophy department here at NYU."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Thomas," Jareth bowed his head briefly and held a bare hand out to shake.

"Please call me Jillian. I'm only strict about formalities with my students and my ex-husbands," she grasped his hand and leaned in slightly, the edge of her lips turning up and betraying the serious expression she was giving him. "Are you in the medical field? These new surgical techniques with microtechnology are very exciting."

"Jareth has quite an eclectic set of interests, Jillian. He's the one I mentioned to you earlier."

"Oh, yes!" She smiled brightly at him. "The only other person who attends public lectures on topics like microtechnology for fun. Richard here says that we're kindred spirits. How did you like the lecture, then?"

"It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful," Jareth said emphatically, "These new technologies are just fascinating. I am ever amazed at the ingenuity of modern medicine."

"And how about the arts? Do you enjoy photography?"

"Very much," He responded, smiling. Photography was an art form he'd never had a chance to study. What a joy it was to have _new_ things to learn.

"There's an open presentation of photographs at Columbia next week," she said, "Four of their students were given national awards for their work and they're each giving a short talk on the techniques that informed their series. Would you like to attend with me? We can have a drink afterwards and banter about common interests."

"I'd love to," Jareth tilted his head slightly, containing his excitement.

"It's a date, then," she said, handing him her card, "Contact me before the week's end and we'll work out the details. I'll have to abandon you in favor of a meeting for now, but it was lovely to meet you, Jareth. Take care, Rich." She tapped the other man's arm with her fingertips as she walked away.

"So now, what's new and interesting?" Doctor Cowden asked, leading him towards the exit. He pushed open the heavy door, gesturing for Jareth to take the lead. The sun hit his face pleasantly, and he responded a bit louder as the noise of the street overtook them.

"Many things, however I must say that for how vibrant this city is, I'm finding it a bit difficult to seek out social opportunities. The people here are very colorful, but very cold."

"It's true, New Yorkers are a unique bunch. I guess even the big cities in the UK are quieter. More polite, too. Honestly I found it easier to deal with Londoners for that reason, alone."

"Ah, indeed. Yes…" Jareth cleared his throat gently, shifting from one foot to the other and tapping his fingers to his hip from inside of his jacket pocket.

"Not Manchester, though. Ha!"

Jareth laughed, even though he truly had very little idea of what the man was talking about. Perhaps he should visit these places soon. He really ought to know these things.

"Let's grab some lunch. Do you like Ethiopian food?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Lead the way, good sir."

.

That evening Jareth sat in his comfortably furnished apartment, sipping hot rosehip tea and reading a novel recommended by the Oprah woman. He knew who _she_ was, yes indeed! He'd taught himself to use the Google after observing all of the people using _laptops_ in cafes and other settings. He'd gone to an electronics store and found one on display, asking the young woman employed there to explain the device to him. She had started rambling off information about rams and numbers that he was sure must be significant, but then gave him a strange look and started speaking slowly once he told her that he mostly just wanted to know what the thing _did._ He still hadn't quite figured out what sheep had to do with it.

He sighed as the female protagonist in the novel bade her male love interest to stay the night with her. That was another thing entirely, wasn't it? Romance. Ah, romance. He remembered the exhilaration, vaguely, the yearning and the sweet ache of it. A sadness sank gently into his chest, however, as he realized that he could not remember any of his past lovers.

"I am old," he said to the room, letting his head fall against the sofa back. Perhaps his time for new love had passed. He very much doubted that he could comfortably expose his nature to anyone of this world, and he certainly could not risk the danger inherent in it. One thing that he did recall quite clearly was the exquisite pain of being forced from the Celtic forests as a child, when his race fled to the Underground in desperation. He remembered the sting of cold steel at his neck before his mother had ripped him away, the absolute despair at the sight of his father's belly pierced with the same blade. He found it maddening that he could not remember the faces of his parents, but the color of his father's blood and the spray on the grass in the morning light were the clearest memories that he had of his childhood. The fear of it still clenched his heart when he thought of being found out. Mortal memory of his people may have faded, but he could not trust that their fickle hearts would not force history to repeat itself.

Jareth set his book down on the side table and closed his eyes, trying hard to remember his mother. The longer he spent in this world, growing, changing, engaging, the more he could remember. It was the way of his kind to fade to stillness rather than to end abruptly. A slow crawl towards nothingness, like the petrification of a branch that had stopped renewing itself, buried in the sand. He had tried to welcome the dimming of his light—dear goddess, had he tried!—but he could not. Instead he became restless, searching, struggling as his mind silenced, as his memories started slipping away. Perhaps that was why he was the last. He could not let go. He still wanted so much more.

A flash of color came to him, a distinct streak of golden hair resting against a woman's cheek. He saw her above him, heard the ring of her laughter and felt the warmth of her hand on his face. The smell of her lingered in his nose and the soft, comforting curve of her smile soothed him. _My sweet boy,_ she whispered, _my dearest little love._

Jareth touched the skin of his temple delicately, smiling at the warmth of his tears as they slowly dripped towards his hairline. When was the last time he'd cried?

.

"Okay, we're closing. Forty seconds," Sarah said, watching the screen intently as the meteorologist hurried to finish the weather segment. "Wrap up, Jamal, we have to cut to Newark."

"Fifteen seconds," she observed aloud and took a few deep breaths. "Five… two… and wrap. Thanks, Jamal. You're good to step down."

"Alright. Did Tina ever get here?"

"Yeah, she's in here with me."

"Tell her she's buying me lunch today."

"I have a headset too, you know," responded the woman fiddling with the soundboard over the tech's shoulder. "And my memory is just fine, I'm not _that_ old. Yeesh," she grumbled, prompting a light chuckle from the man on the other end.

Sarah sighed and pulled off her headset, rubbing her eye and forehead tiredly. Tina looked at her for a moment and bobbed her head to catch the younger woman's eye. "You alright, hun?" she asked, strong Long Island accent peeking through her professional demeanor.

"Fine, fine. Just haven't been sleeping well."

"Family, finances, general existential dread? _Man_ trouble?" Tina's eyebrows raised and she jutted her head to one side knowingly.

Sarah laughed a little harder than the situation warranted, feeling a slight release at the humor in the look on her coworker's face. Man, she was tired.

"A little of everything, I guess. I've had some weird stuff going on." Tina grunted in understanding. "And the kind of guy trouble that makes you want to kick un-neutered dogs."

"Ouch, poor puppies," Tina said, making a face. "Can't say I've ever had that particular urge, but I did once contemplate pouring bleach on every fabric surface in an old boyfriend's house, so I think I might know where you're at. Remind me never to ask you to dog sit."

"Ha," Sarah laughed harshly, an ironic burst of noise that may have sounded slightly hysterical. "No, I love dogs. Really I wouldn't. Maybe."

"It's alright, I don't have one. Just remember, honey. Men are scum. Take it from me. They're only good for one thing, and even that can be taken care of with a glass of wine and some AA batteries." Tina leaned one hip against a table and raised her eyebrows, a finger pointed sassily in Sarah's direction.

Sarah continued to chuckle breathlessly at her remark, rubbing at her eyes again. She looked up and asked, "Can you buy me a cinnamon roll? Please?"

"Sure, Honey. Let's go to the bakery downstairs, I think they have some today."

"My hero."

"Dang kids, eating me out of house and home."

"Sorry, ma."

Tina smacked her playfully on the arm before directing her out the door of the control room. "Better start saving up for the condo Boca you're going to buy me."

"Yes, ma."

"And call ya motha more often. You don't know when I'm gonna die."

"Yes, ma."

"Good girl."

.

Sarah got home from work that evening carrying the half-eaten remnants of an oversized cinnamon roll, feeling dead on her feet. She'd been tired all day, but work was a welcome distraction from the jumpy nervousness that had plagued her all night. She stepped carefully over the messy salt line at her door, careful not to disturb it. A yawn escaped her as she set her things down and sat heavily on the sofa, thinking about what had happened the previous afternoon.

She really didn't know _what_ to think. Never had she wavered in her certainty that her experiences in the Labyrinth were real. There were times that Sarah had called herself crazy, tried to convince herself that it was all a dream, but she'd never really believed it. She'd witnessed too many little things over the years, things that wouldn't let her forget or talk herself out of the reality of the otherworld.

Sometimes it was just a feeling, a hint of the same electric charge in the air that she'd felt in her parents' bedroom when her wish was first granted. Sometimes it was a sound that somehow _didn't belong_ amongst the ordinary noises of city life. Sometimes though, she'd catch a glimpse of a small leathery hand sneaking a treat from the glass display of a sweet shop, or what looked like the tip of a shimmering wing disappearing around the corner of a building, or perhaps an eye winking at her from a split in the bark of a tree. Every time it was just the briefest flash of something foreign to the concrete and steel around her, a minuscule touch of something more than ordinary.

Of course, she hadn't exactly been expecting a fully real Goblin King standing in Central Park, looking for all the world like he was just taking a stroll in the rain.

Sarah had tried to speculate over the years as to whether her solving the labyrinth was a significant event or just another day for him, and could never reach a firm opinion on the matter. How could she possibly guess at what his life was like, what these things meant to him?

Her friends from that episode had been no help, being that she'd never had the opportunity to ask. Only once had she made contact again. Hoggle had appeared faintly in her mirror after she'd whispered his name, looking a bit confused and wary of her. They'd had a very short, very odd conversation in which he'd barely seemed to recognize her. No other calls had been answered.

What could he possibly be doing in the city? Upon reflection, she realized that he genuinely did not seem to remember her. Sarah wasn't sure if she quite believed it, knowing the trickster nature of almost every fey creature described in lore and literature. Truly though, she didn't know much about him. She didn't know _what_ he was, not really, and suddenly she realized that through her perseveration on his nature she'd neglected to consider _who_ he was. She didn't know that, either.

Sarah took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes for the hundredth time that day, feeling frustrated and confused. Well, there wasn't much to be done about it. She had no way of finding the answers to any of the questions running around in circles in her head, nor did she have the energy to even sort out her own thoughts on the matter. Making a firm decision, Sarah stood from the couch and grabbed a book from the overfull shelf on her way to the bedroom, planning on reading for a while before calling it an early night. She was going to put aside her uncertainty of the situation and live her life without looking over her shoulder constantly. There was a completely reasonable chance that the Goblin King's appearance had absolutely nothing to do with her, and if it did she had no way to prepare for it and no idea of what his motivations could be.

She'd leave the salt just in case.


End file.
